Alternate Universe, Season 3
by arsimckhoi
Summary: He's put on psychiatric leave. She's in hiding with her family trying to finish her book. The conspiracy thickens and the gates of Hell are about to open. Violence and darkness ahead. Yes Caskett moments in between and some sex eventually but before the light there's always the gaping maw of darkness trying to consume you... Season 1 has smutty fun. Season 2 is drama.
1. Chapter 1

The pain was trying to come back in Tyson's leg. It wasn't quite there yet but having feeling again meant that it wasn't far behind. His leg still restrained with a metal ring with pins pushing in he wanted to move it but he knew in doing so would only hasten the oncoming. He quickly opened his eyes and let the fogginess fade to clarity. It was still night. Nightstaff would give him another dose and he could enjoy the joyful rush of narcotic bliss. He patted the bed were his right hand was hoping the alarm would hop into his hand and he could summon the drug giving angel, whoever it was, tonight.

His hand failed finding the alarm and flailed as would a fish out of water trying to play chess. He finally turned his head and noticed no alarm near him but did see the shadowed silhouette of a man wearing long coat.

Then he knew his time was coming. He would pay for his sins and those voices would become real demons. Hell had come for him in human form.

"I'm sure you know already," the figure started saying, "the myth of the silencer is purely Hollywood fantasy."

Still the figure pulled out a gun with the tell tell attachment intended to mute the explosion about to happen that would propel matter tearing metal out the back of his skull.

"The decibel level out of a hand gun, say a 9 mm, is 140. Add a silencer it merely drops it down to about 125."

The figure then wrapped a towel around the barrel and the silencer.

Tyson's breathe hastened. He began to try to speak.

"Don't bother. The guards are dead. Nurse's station is at the end of the hall and the alarm?"

He held up a cord that had been severed. The copper wiring still frayed.

"Where was I? Oh yes. Silencer. Adding this wet towel probably drops the decibel level down to oh say …"

The figure's head waivered to and fro as if computing some complex algorithm.

"… One hundred if I'm lucky. Still too loud. That's about as loud as a Harley or a buzzsaw. The real silencing effect comes with the ammo. Subsonic rounds. They don't break the sound barrier like standard ammo does and so now we're talking about 80 or 90. The nurses station will probably think they heard a really thick telephone book fall from the ceiling. If they bother to tear themselves away from Candy Crush or whatever they're doing up there. By the time someone comes to investigate I'll be camped with my sniper scope aimed out the back of a van right at precinct headquarters."

He put the gun in a large plastic Ziploc bag.

"Then there's the matter of residue. You can't wash it off so the best way to keep that from firing is of course not to fire it, right? But I can't not shoot. I have to. I got the call to correct your mistakes."

He formed the plastic with his fingers to be able to pull the trigger and stepped forward.

"I hope you can appreciate the exposition I provide to you since we never really spoke when we worked at Blackgate. I will say though I admired your work in Venezuela. I don't think I would have ever downed that general without that insane maneuver you pulled. C4 in the toothpaste. Kind of brilliant."

The pain had arrived and Tyson's adrenaline finally over shadowed the effects of the fading drugs and haziness. His ability to speak returned.

"You're fucking insane! I've never been to –"

The man emerged from the shadows, grabbed Tyson's hand and snapped his fingers into an L shape. The resulting scream resulted in the plastic covered, silenced gun right down his mouth. The barrel shaped plastic bag and the wet towel already condensing out to the surface pressed down near his gag reflex.

"Would you kindly remember?"

The memories returned to Tyson.

The cashier clerk in Seattle when bringing down the terrorist cell he made put the shotgun barrel in his mouth before pulling the trigger. The mother and her nine children in Juarez Ciudad he burned alive to stop the flow of cocaine for one week. The fact that his schizophrenia was something he had discussed with Bracken as something he had wanted to experience. That it would be the perfect defense in an insanity plea after he was finally captured. The hours of preparation for planting suggestive statements during the hypnotherapy sessions. His agreement that would he be killed should he fail.

"Remember now?" The man said. The man's face was clear now in the light from the streets coming in from the outside.

Tyson nodded.

"Remember me?" The man asked.

Black American. Assassin. Specialized in sniping and extremely ruthless in close quarters. If Tyson was bat-shit crazy than this man was pure psychotic bloodlust.

Tyson bit down on the barrel and nodded. Resigning to his fate.

"Tell the Devil Montgomery sent ya'." Said the man and with that he pulled the trigger.

! #

"Castle!"

Somewhere in his subconsciousness he knew it was Ryan but he wanted it to be a dream so he ignored it.

Dreams don't bang on apartment doors so when he heard it he spout his sounds of displeasure and finally oozed out of bed and began his bare footed walk toward the door.

More shouting from the other side of the door demanded he hurry up.

His thoughts muggy and primitive, blood flow was still an issue to anything above his waist and he struggled to get his muscles coordinated.

More banging and Richard growled. Something inside said to attack but his mind, still in between awake and slumber, hoped for it to be Kate.

He grabbed the knob to his door and were it not attached he would have flung the dman thing across the room. The door opened and Ryan stood, bright eyed and two coffees in hand.

"Tyson's dead."

It was Ryan. Not the shapely author with the bedroom voice he had hoped for.

Rick gritted his teeth before snatching the Styrofoam cup out of his hand.

"Espresso with cinnamon. You're welcome by the way."

Rick let the warmth surprise him as it had cooled enough to reach that cocoa-on-winters-eve perfection. Not that he'd notice if it was too hot since he'd burned away most of his taste buds leaving the only real palpable foods left somewhere in the 'disgustingly sweet' and 'charred flesh' sections of his food pyramid.

"Someone capped him and the two officers watching him last night."

Rick was waking up into a procedural nightmare. He would ignore his friend's update for the moment as he headed towards his room to get dressed.

"Amy was found hanging in her holding cell this morning. We're pulling tape from everywhere."

Standing in the living room Ryan took his rare opportunity to scan the precinct's playboy's things. Couch. Love seat. Flat screen. Several dozen books piled into shelves and in the corner? A quick scan revealed several classics: To Kill A Mockingbird, Jurassic Park, The Stand …

He pushed deeper and a few Beckett novels sat on the shelf. A couple of books on biology. One on the art of the renaissance. That's 70's classic, the illustrated wonderwall "The Joy of Sex" as well as a few anthologies of Calvin and Hobbes.

An interesting peak into the man's mind no doubt. Ryan new about his father's death and realized how hard Rick had worked to get were he was. Cramming his schooling into just over a year and making special forces. Reading was probably the only thing hehad to keep his more frivolous needs satisfied. Being so focused on school and kicking ass he probably devoured the books quickly and efficiently because he had too.

Rick came out of his room dressed and moved quickly and determined. Grabbed his keys.

"Oh, hey were you goin'?"

"Crime scene. C'mon."

! #

The car ride over should have been quiet since Rick didn't want to discuss much but Ryan's curiosity had been poked with a large stick. He was taught, like all were, to detect the lies and expose the truth. The fact Rick was on paid leave made his eagerness to jump on the update to the case interesting. Ryan had gone over as more of an inquiry. To use Rick as a consultant however Rick's actions were one of someone who hadn't clocked out.

"Sleep much last night?" Ryan probed.

Rick slurped his coffee loudly and looked right into Ryan's eyes while dragging out the annoying sucking sound.

It didn't seem Rick was terribly willing to talk.

"You don't look –" _Slurp._

He was seriously going to act this way?

"I've been over your case file and I –" _Sluuuuuurrrrpppp._

Ryan sealed his mouth shut and waited.

Then with one mighty, slurpy, obnoxious glance Rick finished the cup. With a mighty exhale of satisfaction he spoke.

"Hospital first."

The car stopped at a light and Rick turned on the radio. The music played and he began to thump the dashboard with his hands mimicking the drum beat. Ryan wasn't entire sure of the sincerity of the notion so turned it down.

"What are you doing? I was into that?" Rick whined.

"Two witnesses were murdered and you don't want to talk about it on the way?"

"Paid leave." Rick said before he turned the music back up. It was Stone Temple Pilots and Rick began to sing a long.

"I aaamm! Smellin' like a rose that somebody gave me 'cause I'm dead and bloat-ed!"

Ryan began to think he made a mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

The hospital room was sterile, aside from the blood splatter from the single gun shot wound to the head that had painted the headboard with a chunky red.

"Hey Perlmutter. You marvelous medical examiner."

"Rick you're not on the clock and if you come in here so help me God I will make this a murder scene for two." Perlmutter snapped.

Rick stopped at the tape and had both hands raised so that they could be seen.

At this point Ryan took over.

"What've we got so far Perlmutter?"

"Single gun shot wound made to look like a suicide."

"Made to look like one?" Rick pried.

"Silence from the peanut gallery and yes. Made. No way he ate the barrel and the gun end up were it did."

Ryan spotted the gun on the bodies stomach. Hands by his side.

"So someone else did it and made it to look like a suicide. We should pull tape. Send some people out. Estimated time of death?"

"Betweeeeen one and two." Perlmutter removed the gloves on his hands and nodded to the CSI waiting patiently for their chance to take photos and approached Ryan.

"I'll let you take a look but there's no burn marks on the victims hands from the gunshot and you can talk the staff but this is definitely a homicide."

Ryan didn't like where this was going. Their suspect was dead. Not really much of a suspect but innocent until guilty and all…

"Rick we should go see what their doing with Amy. I bet she didn't hang her self eith-"

He turned and Rick was no longer in the doorway. He was talking on the phone in the hallway and –

Wait-

Was he smiling?

! #

She didn't want to admit it.

She was bored.

Again.

She had come all the way up to the Hampton's with Josh and Alex with the specific goal in mind to finish this book and start the next but this block she was experiencing was more like a mucky swamp she was trying to navigate that seemed to grow more thinck and dangerous and annoying as her lack of focus grew. Her own personal swamp of sorrow. Pit of pitty. A depression of depression. A –

A –

Uh –

Damn.

Even alliterating was not as fun as it once was.

She left the story off at a pivotal point. An action sequence was to come soon. She wanted a fist fight.

She remembered seeing Tyson crumbled on the ground like a smashed package of crackers.

_What are you trying to get published by Ritz?_

The mental image of her face awkwardly photoshopped onto a box of crackers, smiling with her mandatory 'hair porn' look with sunglasses slightly pulled down to give that 'I see you there' look.

She opened a new file.

Saved and closed the old one and stared at the blinking cursor.

"Mom?" It was Alex.

"Yeah sweetie?" She was slightly annoyed. It seemed since she got there with them she couldn't get ten minutes of solitude to try and surgically remove the thought of writing about _him_.

Rick. God she hated that name. There was a good reason it rhymed with –

"Dad and I are goin' fishin'. Wanna come?"

She wanted to bu they needed to spend some time apart if she was going to get this stupid book done.

"Nah, I got work to do."

"Okay, I'll catch a big one for you."

"Be sure to throw it back! We can get one at the store if you wanna eat it so bad!"

He probably heard her but he was already leaving the house.

The door closed behind him and Kate was left alone with the unblinking eye of the monitor with a blinking cursor seemingly taunting her with each flicker.

Bullying her.

"C'mon Kate. Write something." The blank screen seemed to say.

She scratched her head knowing full well that her conscious and imagination were dueling. Parrying and spitting and cat fighting and insulting each other.

"Okay." She finally said out loud. Without anyone to think she was crazy around she started talking to the screen.

"So there's a bomb on the sixth and eight floor. Victoria is on the seventh and Nick's got a dozen guys with guns to go through before he can save her."

The blinking cursor blinked and blinked…

It seemed as the screen had just asked her 'And?'

They jump out the window!" She said hoping the escape from the explosion was a good enough idea to prompt approval from her nemesis staring at her blinkingly.

Still she couldn't bring herself to start.

She needed that dark moment to happen. The hero, _he_, summons that strength and courage and ability and charisma and –

Crap. She was stalling.

He was pinned down. A few bullets left. A sniper outside. Squad of armed men. Surrounded by bombs. His super sexy love interest held captive.

"You should call him." Her newly anthropomorphicized monitor said.

"Who?" She asked back although she couldn't tell you if it was out loud or not.

"Rick you dumbass." It said blinkingly.

_This is crazy. I'm taking love advice from the monitor. The stapler going to tell what to cook for dinner?_

Her mind danced with a Beauty and the Beast scenario only with office supply giving advice instead of a tea pot and candelabra.

She saw her cell phone laying like the lazy jerk it was on the desk and she reached for it.

"What do I say to him?" She asked herself. At least at this point she was sure she was talking to herself.

"Well start with Hello and go from there."

"Okay fine I'll say Hello."

She started dialing and she felt the screen watch her. Judging her.

She stood and left with a frustrated grunt.

Then the phone rang as she put it to her ear and fear hit her like a viper strike and she hung up.

_Dummy._ _He knows it's you. He's going to call back._

And that was when it vibrated with his face above a phone number.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit_

_You have to answer._

_No I don't. Pocket dial that's all that was._

_Don't lie._

_WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo-_

_Start with 'I miss you'_

She hit the answer key and innocently asked, "Hello?"

"Kate?" His voice made her smile and feel nervous in a good way. Her stomach fluttered and she stood on her toes quickly shooting the chair back into a cabinet making a _clang_ as it came to a stop.

"Hey Rick!" She said.

_Too excited. Calm down._

"You called?"

"Yeah I was thinking about you and –" _Shitshitshit _"- I have this thing I'm trying to write and I figured I needed some input."

"Figured?"

"Yeah, I know that we – I just needed some help finishing the book is all."

"You shouldn't be calling me."

"Well the weather is nice. Ocean is nice. Alex is out fishing so I thought I could sneak in a call. Anyway I'm writing this scene –"

"How's Josh?"

That hurt more than it probably should have. She had to say something though it was something he needed to know.

"With Alex having fun I'm sure." Just leave it at that.

"How are you?" He probed.

That one stumped her. She wanted to tell him to come up to see her. That they could start over. Maybe be friends and let it lead to more.

"Fine." _Liar._

"You don't seem fine."

She sighed in relief that someone else noticed.

"I'm ruttin' . "

"Excuse me?"

Rutting refers to the spring season when deer are just beginning to look for a mate after a long winter. Males' are more aggressive and females are more bold. Both are horny as hell.

"I'm in a rut." She corrected.

She heard something announced through a speaker on his phone.

"I see. What seems to be the problem? Mating season almost over?"

_Damnit!_

"I misspoke. I'm stuck out here in this beautiful place and I got nothing to write."

"Well you have to finish the book. Just have them drive off a cliff."

"I'm not doing Thelma and Louise. No girl power in this one."

"Hmmm…" He started, "What's the problem?"

"I'm stuck." She said. "Nick is stuck."

"What's going on?"

"Well _he_ is stuck and surrounded. There's a, uh, wait –" Something about the way he asked that question…

"Are you at work?" She asked.

"Me? No. Paid leave."

The image of him lounging at home without a shirt on and pants hanging low like he was a Ryan Reynolds body double in an action film or something kind of her flutter a little. Which removed a little of her nervousness. Changed it from weakly stroked, dissonant chord to a strong major fifth punk rock power chord.

She started sweating a little. She didn't remember the last time she felt this way talking to someone.

"I just – I thought you might be in a hurry to get me off the phone."

Silence.

"Well if you want me to get you off I can." He said that on purpose.

"No! No! No! I –nevermind. What about the case?"

"I have an appointment with Bracken today."

"Who?"

_Oops._

"Suspect and my therapist."

"Excuse me?" She was hoping she both heard and misheard at the same time.

"It's complicated."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" She mentally glossed over in her mind all the things he could possibly be seeing a therapist for. Especially one that was a suspect. Weird.

"It's – look you needed help, right? I can't talk about it right now."

"Okay, sorry, yeah let's um … let's talk about the thing I'm doing."

"Please."

"So he's got a few bullets, a bunch of guys with guns closing in and the girlfriend is tied up. Is it possible that –"

"Did you mean it when you said you loved me?" He interrupted.

She would have spit coffee out of her mouth had she some in it.

"I – uh – sorry what again now?"

"You said you loved me. Then you take your ex with you."

"Rick I …"

She couldn't explain what was happening. Things were awkward, then fun now confrontational.

"Did you mean what you said?" He continued.

"About?" She was stalling again.

"When you said 'I love you'?"

"I-" She did miss him.

"Uh –" She wanted him.

About four days knowing the guy and she's complete puddy.

"Yes. I meant it." She let out a sigh of relief. "I'm miserable here. I know you don't feel the same but maybe when this is over we can give it a try."

"Does he have back up?" He asked.

"Who? Oh! Nick! Yeah. No. No he doesn't."

"He needs back up. No one would believe he takes out a squad of guys and saves the day without back up. I gotta go. Tyson's dead by the way. I'll tell you more later."

Then the call ended.

_He did not just hang up on me!_

**Please leave a review. It helps me out tremendously. I really appreciate it you guys thanks.**

**If you haven't read season's one or two do so now so you don't get too confused.**


	3. Chapter 3

She was pacing.

Alex and his father were still gone and she was biting her nails, walking a ditch into the floor panel, pacing.

He just hung up on me. The statement no longer in shock but a declaration of fact.

Maybe the call dropped?

She began dialing his phone number and half way through the first ring he answered.

"One hour, twenty two minutes."

"You were timing me?"

"And another clock ready for when you hang up on this call."

"Why would I hang up this call?"

"Because you're jealous."

"Jealous? Of who?"

"My date that I have at one o'clock today. Don't worry we're just going to talk."

Feeling like she was being played she hung up.

_Is that all I was to him? Just some ga-_

Then she realized she had fallen for it.

She didn't know if he was going to talk to another woman or the circumstances or if even a cup of coffee would be involved or if there was something more. She remembered the precinct coffee and how god awful it was.

_So he wants coffee does he? Back up. Time to call in back up._

She dialed him again.

"Twenty two seconds. I was expecting you sooner. Little disappointed you fell for it though."

Disappointed. He wanted her 'A' game.

"I see, very funny, ha ha. So are getting coffee with her?"

"And if I was?"

"I'd brew some up and we could drink some together and you could cancel your date."

"I think I'd like that." She heard the smile in his voice.

! #

Smitten.

That was the word he was feeling. It had to be that word. If it was anything else he didn't know the word because he'd never felt this, well, _smitten_ before. The anticipation for the phone calls that followed throughout the day and the smile he heard on the phone from her made him gooey. Smitten and gooey. Two words. Aflutter. Smitten, gooey and aflutter.

The thought sickened him and he began to steel himself but by doing so his vision dulled and his insides hollowed. He'd read about this before. Chemicals in the brain giving the 'lover's rush'. Senses heightened. Song lyrics became more meaningful. He brushed it all off as parlor tricks in the past. It would pass in time as the brain's pathways for pleasure became engrained as a result of the sera-something and dopa-whatever became regulated. Infatuation? That word felt dirty and empty. Muddied the buzz in him right and felt like the thought of the word was like doom itself starting a blinking contest. Infatuation to describe this feeling felt as wrong as a drunk man opening fire at a school playground. No, infatuation was not the right word.

This had a cuddly rooted sense to it. Fuzzy.

He sighed in disgust at those words. Cuddly and fuzzy. Disgusted because they were right. He was smitten, gooey, aflutter, fuzzy and cuddly.

A splash of paranoia as he realized _she_ had turned him into this somehow. That she was an adorable evil planning on waiting for his guard to drop before cutting his head off and eating the goo that remained inside. Then he got what the Greeks were talking about when they came up with the idea of Sirens.

Like a good minion would, when she called he answered and his 'charm' just kind of fell out when he spoke. He couldn't seem to say the wrong thing. He was understood. She'd talk about something and he could finish her sentence. He would have an answer and she would listen.

He assumed she was an intelligent person and when he couldn't come up with the right word she was there to fill it in so he had no reason to think that, as an intelligent person, she would have not thought of the same words to describe how he felt. It seemed only right that he was using the right words.

There was little doubt in his mind that something similar was happening to her.

He had evidence during their conversations.

He submitted for evidence in the trial of Richard Castle v Matters of the Heart:

Evidence 1A –

"Like when you go the grocery store and you look just one thing-" She had started.

"-and walk out with a cart full?" He finished.

Okay. So he finished her sentence one time. No big deal.

Circumstantial at best.

But he laughed at what she would say.

Evidence 2A –

"So after I left the theater I went up to the manager and said - " He said.

"-if you're gonna show a horror film make sure the popcorn isn't flammable?" She finished.

They laughed at that one and he remembered smiling for the rest of the night.

She had to be feeling the same way. Didn't she?

Plenty of people get overstimulated at grocery stores and go crazy with the purchases but 'Bermuda triangle'? That's a pretty common comparison, isn't it?

Granted no one else he'd ever been with said things like that but still, there was seven billion people out there and it was only a matter of time before he'd meet the right person that …

_Whoa_

The phrasing, 'the right person' set his spine straight and his eyes wide but sight in his thoughts.

He'd give up on the fantasy 'right person' and left the dream behind for casual encounters and alcohol and bar fights and …

He had to call his mom.

_Haven't spoke to her in months. Barely saw her at the hospital. What would I say?_

_Hi mom! I know we don't talk much but how do you know when you're in love?_

_Wwwhhhhhooooaaaaa_

_I didn't just – nope. Just ask her to meet you._

He shook his head hoping those warm, fuzzy, smitten, cuddly, aflutter, infatuated, fantastical serendipitous feelings would fade into some kind of nether region for a moment so he could think clearly with out this love cloud raining kittens and unicorns for five damn seconds.

_Ask mom to lunch. Got it._

Then his phone rang.

It was Beckett because of course it was.

"What!?" He growled as he answered.

"Is now a bad time? I can call back?" Her voice was playful. Understanding and forgiving.

_Damnit!_

"No. Yes. It's fine I just … I can't… Damnit! Yeah, no you're fine. What do you want?"

The rainbow of emotions verbalizing itself to her in a few seconds left her tepid.

"Well I was calling to see what you knew about fishing?"

He couldn't resist the opportunity that was to follow.

"Went to school for it. Got my masters."

A slight pause.

"Really? You're going to try and do that joke?"

"I'm especially good at putting the worm on the hook."

A sigh and he could hear her eyes rolling.

"So you're a masterbaiter. Ha ha." She remarked dryly.

"Missed you too, Beckett."

_Crap. Now you miss her?_

"Okay great. So 'master baiter' they came back to drag me out fishing and I don't know what to use as bait."

"Well it just so happens that –"

"Rick don't! Just tell me if you know what to use to catch something."

"No clue." A tad ironic since he was a detective.

"Some master baiter you are."

He snickered.

She was glad to hear him make happy sounds.

"You're smiling aren't you?" He accused.

"Yeah a little I guess."

"I can hear it."

She smiled harder. Wider.

"There it is! It's huge right now!"

"Shutup! I'm trying to shop for bait!" She whined before frowning and hardening her face to try not to give into his accusations.

"Now you're trying to force your face to scowl to hide the smile."

"Am not!" She pouted.

"Yes you are but you can't stop the smiling can you?"

"Stop it!" She objected as she closed her eyes to focus on not doing the thing she totally just was.

"Where is it?" He teased.

Silence fell over the phones and Rick listened. Kate covered her mouth trying to hide her mouth from the mouthpiece.

"I think… wait." His face waiting for the moment to gloat.

The anticipation of the next word was tickling at Kate's cheeks until she wanted to hear his voice and then she uncovered her mouth and puckered her lips into her mouth to restrain her growing grin.

"There. Is it? Almost there."

The she lost control. Her lips parted and she blushed. Her smile so wide she covered her face with her free hand trying not to let anyone see it. Even though she was alone in her writer's den some secret satellite somewhere had to be watching her somehow.

"There it is!" He exclaimed.

"Stop oh my god! Stop it!" She laughed and he laughed with her.

She sunk down into her chair.

"Just look it up on the internet, Beckett. I'm at a crime scene."

"I though you were on leave?"

"We'll talk later. I got my appointment in a little bit."

"Hot date?"

"Therapist."

"Call me when you're done?"

Their conversations had grown natural. Something had been happening to him and his was working to hard growing two sized too big but now he had to be professional. Calm himself and respond to her as if she was a victim.

"I'm working on it. I'll call you later."

"Hey Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Please be safe?"

He smiled. Not the three words he was thinking but he was happy to hear it.

_She's got it bad for you Rick._

"I love you, too." He said then hung up.

He turned and Amy's body was being put in a bag. Ryan started writing notes. Rick entered the cell.

"I have to go to an appointment , Ryan. You go it from here?"

"Yeah it's a homicide. No chair for her to climb up to so I'll talk to the guard and get the tape. If it's the same person we'll see it and let you know."

"Okay." Rick turned to walk away.

"Oh! Rick? Who's the lucky girl? Anyone I would know?" Ryan knew who it was but now? He was just rubbing it in his face.

"What are you –" The pang of anxiety hit Rick.

If he wasn't in love with her something else certainly did the talking.

! #

Through the scope of the sniper rifle the cross hairs were slowly becoming less like a means for targeting and more like God's finger pointing at who to shoot.

With Tyson now gone for talking the next cell was set in motion. His objectives were clear. Montgomery had his instructions and his mission parameters and the rules of engagement were concise but the school bus rolling down the street seemed just a little too tempting. When that need to kill crawled up his proclivity to follow orders wavered like a flag in a windstorm. He had to stick to the plan though as he had not death wish of his own. Eventually for the mission to be successful he would have to kill himself and he was willing to follow orders. He had too if he was asked kindly enough.

He had not been asked in that special way to fire at the school but but temptation rumbled inside him.

The way an alcoholic's mouth waters and dries at the same time at the sight of a bottle. The shakiness and rising discomfort. With just a squeeze he could –

No. The mission was on now. He could take care of that in his own time if he was granted it. For now the killer was waiting in his van on the third floor of the parking garage two blocks from the police headquarters.

He had the targets picture on the ledge he built that was inside the van.

A metal table with pipes welded in place to hold the barrel of the rifle was his nest and time was his blanket. Night and day were just things now. Not indicators. Not for sleeping or eating but factors on the path of the bullet.

He had spent weeks in Venezuela waiting for the perfect shot, eating any poor insect that was dumb enough to crawl across his foxhole or nibbling on crap rations in the ration while he waited. Three days supplies lasted him three weeks as he waited.

The trees and life grew around and on him as he lay still, controlling his breath, in and out.

In.

Out.

His thoughts silent and focused.

In Venezuela he had waited and scouted the general's mansion and the shots he took to down the guards was worth the wait.

Beautiful misty explosions leaving little more than empty skulls imitating bowls that had brainy cereal dumped out. Then the C4 in the toothpaste from the general's bathroom was triggered. The explosion was beautiful. It took out the fourth story and before the servants even left Tyson had sulked away and reported back that the mission was accomplished.

He waited three weeks for those events.

He could wait a few more hours if he had too.

So he waited.

**Comments and reviews please! Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

Time magazine from April 2007.

Sports Illustrated 2009. Manning's on the cover. Again.

Last week's newspaper business section.

If a time traveler came through here he'd be so confused.

The waiting room didn't carry the usual life around it. No other patients were waiting so it was just him and Ethel. The secretary. He didn't know if her name was Ethel but it felt better in his mind to give her the name rather than bother her to open her glass sliding door that separated her from the rest of the world as if she was in quarantine than to actually talk to her.

He weighed which magazine to read then considered that maybe he was being judged on his actions. Not picking up something to read would mean one thing but picking up the wrong thing would give Dr Bracken the wrong impression. The notion that maybe he wanted to escape or that he was stuck in an alpha male role. Perhaps that he was envious of wealth.

Than he spotted the Highlights magazine special 40th anniversary issue.

It was hard not to pick that up. It was crammed full of completed word puzzles and already colored pages and while he was sure the format hadn't changed there was an owl on the front cover so maybe there would be an interesting factoid about owls.

Then he considered that picking that up would indicate that his development was ceased along some lines and he'd be considered to be in some state of adolescence.

Then he remembered why he hated talking to head doctors. Much less one's that he was investigating in some backwards way.

"Rick?" It was Bracken's voice and soothing as he was sure it was supposed to be it made Rick uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" He responded.

"Your turn." Then Bracken gave a slight smile.

! #

Rick sat on the couch and the doctor pulled his chair up across from him and sat.

There was no furniture between them and Rick had a clear path to strangling him if he decided it were necessary.

"Rick I want to get something out in the open about us."

"Us?" _Is he breaking up with me ? Yeesh._

"I lied. Several years ago I was brought onto a think tank program by an organization that was seeking for new ways to infiltrate terrorists cells believed to be already active and planning in the U. S. and root out those responsible. I met several members in the creative, military and software design industry and we were able to help out however we could. I tell you that so that I can ask you this. What if I had in my desk some top secret government file that showed your father was still alive?"

Rick was stunned at his question.

"I've come across this situation a lot with people who have served our country. Paranoia. Delusions. False confidence. Moments in denial. Resembles the addict mentality. King baby I believe the rehab centers call it."

Bracken folded his hands on his lap. Leaning forward slightly and locking eyes with Rick.

"I'm sure you have questions so I'll answer them."

Rick could hardly blink before he said, "Why are you trying to kill Beckett?"

"I'm not trying to kill anyone Rick. I believe a person of interest and a patient of mine was killed this morning. Was he not?"

Rick nodded and also took note that there was only really one way he could know that.

"Call me what you will but Jerry did have a rather unhealthy fetish with Kate Beckett when I met him. He told me of the fantasies he had of killing for her affection and I did the best that I could to help him."

"You can understand if I don't believe you."

"I do. That's why you're here."

The phrasing did give Rick a pause and he reacted to the question.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"Have you been having problems in relationships recently Rick?"

Recently? No. Kate seemed to be someone he might give a chance to be more than just a fling.

"What do you mean?"

"How many relationships with the opposite sex have you had over the last year Rick?"

The question gave Rick more pause.

"Define relationship?" He said trying to qualify the question.

"Sex."

The directness and immediate response and Rick did a quick mental tally.

"Five or six maybe."

"Have you had any anxiety attacks recently?" Bracken folded his hands on his lap.

He had but Rick didn't know exactly what he was getting at.

"A few."

"How frequent?"

"One or two a week."

"What happens when these attacks occur?"

"I.." Rick's hands were sweating and he wiped them on his jeans. "… dizziness. Trouble breathing. Light headedness."

Bracken lay his head on his hand that now kept him upright in the chair.

"You were a soldier right? File says you were special forces. Big tough guy stuff."

Rick wasn't going to let the polite taunting get him upset.

"I did serve my country."

"Where'd you see action soldier?"

Rick was angered by the demand but it wasn't enough to challenge his authority.

"Where I was needed."

"Somalia? Afghanistan? Iraq? Am I close?"

"Some of those. Yeah, I've been there."

"Ever been to Venezuela? Russia? Syria?"

"I know what you're trying to do doc." Rick said in an I'm-onto-you fashion.

"Would you kindly remember?" Bracken asked and his voice faded.

Rick felt at ease. Something took hold. It wasn't like he had suffered a blow but more as if something unlocked a door and it had creaked up open. Like a dog sneaking into it's owners bedroom to sleep on the bed while the owner was gone.

A jungle. Sand. A dirty city. Like snapshots in an art students C- film, snippets of scraps of memories trickled in.

Rick felt a pang of anxiety but it stayed low and hidden.

"What do you remember Richard?"

The images connected. Orders occurred to him.

"Somalia." Then a screaming child's face covered in blood as his hand seemed to come up into the boy and through him.

"A boy I killed in Somalia." He said.

He felt dazed and oddly willing to see where these memories were leading.

"Yes the boy from Somalia you killed Rick. Why did you kill him?"

"The mission. We had to bring back the target."

Rick's heart thumped and the anxiety coarsed through him. Veins opening as if shotgun blasts of adrenaline traced through him. Yet he continued. A need to speak what he's seeing as the unlocked something, the something that had been torturing him in his sleep.

The girl that visited him in his dreams climbed into his memories and took the boys place.

"Why did you kill the boy Rick?"

"He was going to get me killed. He was going to give our position."

"What else do you remember?"

"I …" He swallowed and his eyes welled up. He had told himself he had to do it. It was either that or go home in a body bag.

"I killed many men. Airstrike. We got the target and reported back."

The tears overloaded the levy of his eyelids and now fell down his cheek.

"Who gave you the order to attack Rick? Who gave you the mission?"

"Don't know."

"I think you know who did it Rick. It's why you took point that day."

"I don't –"

"Rick you do remember. Would you kindly remember if it was your father who gave the order?"

The suggestion of his father put the image in his mind of his father's body crumbled in an alleyway.

"My Dad?"

"Yes Rick. Your father gave the order to kill that child."

Rick's head swelled and something felt like it was inserting itself in him. More tears came.

"Daddy?" He was a child again learning of his father's death.

"Your father isn't dead Rick. He lives on in you. He is the one that wants Kate Beckett dead. No one else."

Rick's anxiety died down and the door to his memories closed itself.

"The men at the station."

"What men?"

"Tweetle Dee and Dum." Still dazed but coming to like a tsunami beginning to recede his thoughts floated to the surface.

"You're a sick man Richard Castle. The two men are not real. There are no men."

Rick's eyes blinked and he was again back in the therapists room. Back from the journey in his mind.

The hypnotic phase he was in faded though it still gave room for further suggestion.

"Who else has seen the operatives in your precinct?" Bracken asked.

"Me. Lanie. Beckett."

"Lanie played along. I told her about your hallucinations when you first arrived. Didn't I?"

The assumptive question began to open room for doubt in his state.

"Y-Yes. Yes you did." He couldn't remember anymore if the men spoke to him first or if Lanie did.

"I then told her that you were falling into thoughts of paranoia and had dreamed up a conspiracy didn't I?"

Again no memory of it came to him but no tingling or need to defend his thinking came in. He had to assume that he had dreamed the whole thing up. Didn't he?

Rick snapped out of his daze. Wiped his face of the tears that had come.

Bracken took this as an opening.

"Rick. You've got quite a bit of trauma. In your mind you've connected your murdering an innocent child in Somalia with the fear of being a father. This is why you have held out being in a relationship." He smiled. His plan hadn't worked at all but his hopes were that he could by some time until he could clean up the mess that the operation had left behind.

Rick looked around the room, trying to get his bearings.

"There's only one remedy for this Richard. Is there someone, somewhere you can go that you feel safe?"

Bracken stood and headed to his desk and took a prescription pad.

"Yeah." Rick smiled. "I think I know someone I can go be with."

"Good! I'm giving you a prescription to help you with your night terrors."

"Night terrors? I don't have any night terrors." Rick was slightly confused but he wasn't a psychiatrist.

"You will if you don't take one of these everyday." The doctor tore off the piece of paper and handed it to Rick.

"Pick some of these up and go find that person your safe with. I'll call you everyday. Would you kindly remember to pick up your phone when I call?"

"Yeah, sure. What's this about night terrors?"

Rick stood and waited for an answer.

"It happens from time to time when undergoing therapy for your particular situation that your subconscious will try and handle the trauma and this leads to some rather, shall we say, discomforting nightmares?"

Rick looked at the piece of paper. He couldn't pronounce what it was but it sounded scary in ten milligram doses.

"You may not remember everything you just experienced but you will when you need to. Your mind is trying to heal from the things you've seen and done Mr. Castle. Together we can get through this."

Bracken closed the drawer and sat down in his chair and began writing something down as if Rick had already left the room.

And without any further cue Rick did finally leave the room.

! #

Ryan stepped out of his cruiser and walked down the sidewalk towards the front of the headquarters wooden doors.

It was a nice day and if the body count hadn't started piling up he'd probably take a stroll to his favorite hot dog stand and catch up with the vendor.

Still he had things to review and questions to ask. His phone rang and he answered blindly without looking, "Yyy –ello?"

"Hey, Ryan? I just had the weirdest experience at the therapists office. I don't think I can help you for the rest of the day. I'm going to get take some personal time away."

Ryan smirked. "Hot date with a beautiful writer eh?"

"Yeah. I sure do."

"Can't say I blame you. Things have gone sideways here I'd stay away from here as long as I can if I were you."

"I got two weeks left. I think you guys can keep the city in one piece while I'm gone."

"Go have fun Rick. Take pictures. Nothing too risqué alright?"

Rick laughed. "Yeah, yeah I'll catch a fish for ya okay?"

"Take care Rick." Ryan hung up without a second thought.

He saw Lanie stepping down from the steps leading to the building and immediately greeted her.

"Hey Cap! Where're you-"

The burning punch in his back knocked him to his knees and his face went sheet white before he heard the snapping crackle of a high powered rifle not too far away.

The once white dress shirt covered in bits of his own insides and blood gave a pink tint to the edge of the exit wounds but the blood poured out in a fountainesque fashion. He motioned to cover the hole in his chest but the blood loss was too great already. His balance gone he collapsed onto the sidewalk and heard his name called out Lanie before everything finally went black.

! #

Montgomery quickly disassembled his rifle, slapped it into his lead suitcase and sat in the driver seat before calmly accelerating towards the exit ramp.

The fourth body had just been made and discovered in one fell swoop.

**Leave a review and comment! Have a nice day! ;-P**

**Oh and I've been hypnotized twice and it's not like you think it would be. You know what's happening but if you're an agreeable type then you'll go along with whatever is said. It's like that state of mind where your sleeping and dreaming about what the morning radio dj is saying when the alarm goes off.**

**Typically you'll do things you would normally do anyway so Rick's crying and all that are all things he's been wanting to say or do. The power of suggestion? Yes! During hypnosis suggestion does link up very strongly in your mind. If you are in that state of mind then yes you can create new memories and help bad or old one's start to disappear. It's why it works sometimes with quitting smoking or dieting. But only sometimes. It varies from person to person and the abilities of the therapist. Look it up it's fascinating stuff.**


	5. Chapter 5

The city streets seemed clear. Not clean but clear. It still had the dirty feel of a crowded metropolis but now Rick could see everything. The old lady getting helped across the street. The kids on the corner probably not up to anything more than hanging out on the street corner. The bustling drive of the ambitious, busy people trying to get to work to wherever it was that it seemed they needed to spend or make money.

All the actions of the people herding together like sheep gave him the clarity to his thoughts.

His purpose, he thought, was his job for so long. It was his passion and while it gave him the necessities, room and board and an occasional night out, it suddenly felt as useless and pointless as waking up in a jail cell. That was until he thought about going to Kate.

His whole damned world had become about her after a few weeks. Now it made him mad. Mad because he should be stronger than this. Stronger than what the therapist was trying to make him do.

Either Bracken thought he was stupid or delusional. At this point Rick wasn't sure. He knew someone was trying to kill his lover that shadowed him throughout the case so far –

Lover

Blech. Is that what she was now? They did say the 'L' word to each other but really? Lover? It was like _real_ love. Was it? Couldn't be. It was only – what – two weeks? People shouldn't be falling for each other in that short of a time. He'd been in love before and it didn't move this quickly. Then again maybe he wasn't in love then and he is now.

He sat on a bench on the sidewalk watching the busy people bustle.

So was he in love with her? Who would be stupid enough to fall in love after two weeks?

_Romeo and Juliet. The read head from The Little Mermaid and Eric. _

He hated his own pretentious know-it-all thoughts. They sounded like something she would say.

He felt infected now. These thoughts weren't natural it seemed. Some cocktail mix of lust and weird voodoo therapy was jacking with his brain. Had to be.

Tweetle Dee and Dum were probably waiting for him at the station or somewhere and he wasn't in the mood to try and explain what happened to him in his session.

He had played along with the notion to take note of what Bracken's game was but –

Now?

What if there was no conspiracy? If he was having some sort of mental break?

Ryan had been working the case hadn't he?

Now things became unclear. If there was a conspiracy then that means that -

Amy, Sarah, Tyson, the Patel's and the street performer were all dead because the think tank Bracken was a part of. That his father had a part in it. If someone was cleaning up, burying it under a pile of bodies so high the truth would never see the light of day then Kate knows something she doesn't know she knows and not knowing is going to get her killed.

Or was he just making all this up to talk to her? An excuse to see her again?

Forget about being with her for a second.

If she knows something how would you know? If she had a part to play in closing the program would she have tied up her whole family? Why was she looking into her father's case? Was it really to just help him?

His head hurt and tracking the possibilities he began to lose the point of questioning all together. For each affirmation of her being on his side he seemed to imagine a negative that pushed her away.

Should he work from the beginning or work backwards from the end? What is the end?

Kate was the target before things changed and Tyson found an interest in him. Why Kate?

Amy dead. Tyson dead.

She met Tyson at the shelter. They hit it off and she got sucked into his demented little world. A world that, if Bracken's sessions were anything like what they were for him, might not be so demented as it was programmed.

_Can't make you do anything you didn't want to do in the first place._

He remembered Bracken's words. Hypnosis doesn't make you do things you don't want to.

So maybe he did have genuine feelings for her. Maybe he wanted to believe his father was still alive somewhere and all this playing with his mind was somehow what he wanted in the first place.

Maybe he was making up the two agents in some elaborate way to get paid leave.

_I thought therapists were suppose to help talking it out? Not put more junk in?_

Now it seemed his brain was slightly scrambled and the shell broken.

An odd feeling realizing you're being manipulated.

He got his phone and scrolled through his contacts. The name's on the list all were people he remembered. Javier, the Captain, Kate, Ryan, his mother. Where to start?

Who was the most likely to be real? He chuckled at the thought of this all being a lab experiment, that his brain was just in a vat of goo and the only that was real was his thoughts.

Mom.

He pushed the send button on her number and it rang once before she picked up –

"Hey Ricky! How's my son!?"

"Hey mom, I'm okay I think. What've you been up to?"

"I think? Five seconds and everything is falling apart? Is this about that Kate Beckett?"

Now this has to be some technological construct. He never told her about Kate. Yep. He was in the Matrix.

"I met her while you were in the hospital."

_Just like a machine to answer the question I didn't ask_. He immediately put away the paranoia for a moment and focused on what was really important now.

Strangling his mother.

He knew she wasn't the most reliable but she tried but not seeing him when he had been put in the hospital was something someone who didn't really care would do.

"Mom?" He was as mad as a hive of hornets.

"Yes?"

"Is there a particular reason you didn't come see me?" He had wanted to stay on topic, to get answers to his questions but right now, as always, things had become focused on her.

"I spoke to the doctor and he said you got your bell but that you'd be okay."

He put his head in his hand and buried all of his feelings deep.

He pushed it all down. The little girl he dreamed about. He thought it resembled having a normal, happy life.

The dead bodies that would steal his nights of sleep sometimes.

His probably alive father. It wasn't worth it anymore. Not worth losing his mind over.

He needed to get away. Find some place to hide. Some place safe.

"Well I'm glad you checked on me at least." He said suddenly feeling numb.

"You feeling okay?" She asked.

"I just need some time off. Got some paid leave. Maybe I'll go somewhere."

She tried to say something but he hung up.

"Where do you go Rick?" He asked himself. All of his questions, everything that gave him purpose before he saw the therapist disappeared into the void of his tired mind.

Even with all the doubt and loathing that creeped into his mind he still had one steady beam of light.

Kate Beckett.

_Okay. You win. _He said before standing from the park bench and deciding to head home.

! #

Ryan was on his way to the hospital and being chest compressions as the whole precinct was now looking for anyone or thing that could give them an answer. The 10th precinct had scrambled to help cover any patrols within minutes and the 8th provided all the hands on deck it could the entire 9th was taping off and investigating the scene. Some scoured the sight while others made a human shield in front of the taped off area from the media that held the unblinking eyes of the camera onto the blood that still had not dried on the sidewalk. The city was stirring as if a riot was about to erupt but it wouldn't come as the presence of officers instilled a sense of civility onto the busy city.

Captain Lanie was handed a picture of a white, unlicensed van that had left the area from a street camera. Several witnesses had noticed it and the search for the suspect had yielded immediate results. The sniper shot blocks away from a police HQ that killed an officer and that meant no one was safe and the people of New York were not going to let a lunatic hold them hostage.

"Alright everyone!" Lanie held up the picture, blood still on her hand from when she was performing CPR. The crowd of officers just inside the lobby snapped to attention.

"The son of a bitch took one of us and that means no one is safe! We got the picture of the vehicle and we have a rough sketch of the suspect! Take a copy and hand it around."

A pile of papers were given around and she continued.

"The media has the van and the picture on full blast, breaking news now. Do not let this bastard get away. If there's one thing I know about the city of New York is that the people will not let this stand. We will get the maggot because the city of New York is better than one man with a rifle. This is the greatest city on the planet!"

She lowered her head to catch her breath form the emotions that were sneaking out. Then she noticed the blood on her hands. Her insides churned and swelled and hardened as a distinct snarl creeped onto her face.

"Let's get him."

The officers immediately stood and moved outside, fanning out to the city.

She sat and looked at the blood on her hands and contemplated what to do. Wash it off? Was it evidence? She walked ot the bathroom to clean up and didn't care if it was or wasn't she needed it off of her.

The two agents stood in the bullpen. The Tweetle Dee and Tweetle Dum characters she had given Rick to and she did everything she could to ignore them.

"Captain we need to talk." One of them said.

She walked into the bathroom and began running water. The soap was poured on the the dispenser and she scrubbed away as much as she could and even then she still felt covered in it.

Leaving she marched past them until –

"Captain we have to talk to you."

"I'm a little busy guys. Call Rick in if you need to talk to someone."

"That's just it. He's not answering his phone." Said the agent dressed in black.

She turned to face them about to tear their head off. She couldn't handle more bad news.

"We think his cover is blown."

! #

Rick's phone had been ringing all the way back to his apartment. He decided that his last remaing place to was wherever Kate was. He had questions and he just had to see her again. To look her in the eyes and scrape the truth out of her if necessary.

His mind was on packing and jumping on his Harley and finding her. He had to call her first and explain the change in his request for her to go hide.

His keys were out and he approached his door. He turned the knob slightly before to confirm it was locked but the door cracked open slightly. An unlocked door in his building meant someone was inside.

He slowly opened the door and shouted, "NYPD! I'm armed!" He eased the door open and sitting ever so comfortably on his loveseat was a man waiting for him. The man was calm and seemed to be waiting for him.

"Come on in, Rick. You don't have a gun and neither do I."

Rick entered cautiously and waited for the man to move.

His gray beard and professional attire screamed government agent. He didn't have much more time to sum up the intruder before he spoke.

"I'll keep the pleasantries short since time is a factor."

"Who are you?" Rick asked.

"I'm your father Rick and you need to save Kate Beckett."

**Please in the name of all that is Holy leave a comment/review or whatev's**


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